


Twenty Years Later

by kickynikki



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-23 18:50:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18555700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kickynikki/pseuds/kickynikki
Summary: Written for Sing Me A Rare Volume 3. Thank you so, so, so much, NotSoSirius92 for being my amazing, incredible, wonderful beta. THANK YOU. I know for an absolute fact I wouldn't have finished this story without your encouragement and feedback. You the real MVP!!!Song Prompt -- Savior by Rise Against.





	Twenty Years Later

“. . . And it kills me not to know this. How could I not know? I saw them so many times, once I could've painted them from memory, but I've all but just forgotten what the color of her eyes were. I can't remember her scars or how she got them.”

“When did you last see her?”

“The Battle. The last Battle, when it was finally over. It seems like a lifetime ago now. I was on the wrong side, she was on the right one. How could she ever forgive that? No one else has.”

“Do you know where she is now?”

“A thousand miles away, I'm sure. What does it matter? There's nothing left to say, it's over, it was twenty years ago. I'm sure she doesn't remember me at all, and hates me if she does.”

“Maybe not. Have you tried to reach out, get some closure? It might be good for you, to have answers, even after all this time. It still bothers you.”

“No. I couldn't do that to her.”

“Well, we'll revisit that. Tell me how you met. You went to school with her, right?”

~~~~~

Draco was going to die. It wasn't clear exactly when, or exactly how, but he knew precisely why and under whose orders. It was inevitable. Draco Malfoy would die, unless Dumbledore did first.

Unfortunately, Draco was not so good at the murder thing. His second attempt had now failed -- which he should have foreseen, really. In his heart, he wasn't sure if he'd truly ever expected it to succeed, or if it was just a futile effort to feel like he was trying, a shot in the dark to keep the hounds of hell at bay. Whatever the true intent hidden in his soul, it hadn't worked, his other project was still failing, and he was running out of time, so quickly, the days pressing down on him like crushing weights, never waiting, never giving him a second to stop and breathe and think -- 

And after all that, he'd still have to put up with Weasel. When he'd heard who got poisoned, he was almost glad of the failure -- most days, he didn't take enough notice of such an inferior person to wish him dead, but it would've been one less annoyance in his life. Perhaps the murder of a blood-traitor would've appeased the Dark Lord a bit as well, proven his dedication despite his continued failure at his true task -- but no, that line of thought led to panic.

How had Weasel even gotten the poison? Obviously Slughorn had given it to him, but why? Why had he and Potter even been there?

~~~~~~~~

Over the course of the next few days, he gathered the rest of the intriguing story. A love potion gone wrong, meant for Potter, given to him by one of their beloved Gryffindors, hidden in chocolate. Daring, sure, but also ambitious with hints of cunning. Perhaps this Romilda Vane had a green streak amongst all the red.

He found her in the library one day, after having Pansy point her out in the Great Hall. Dark haired, younger, and -- surprisingly -- gorgeous. What possessed him to speak to her, he’d never know, but he found himself standing at her side nearly before he had a chance to register it.

“Vane. Mind if I have a seat?”

She’d looked up at him with a blank face. No interest or pleasure, but no hatred either, which was shocking enough in and of itself.

“Romilda. And sure, go ahead. Not like I need the whole table to myself,” she’d answered.

“Thanks. Romilda.” He sat and looked at her for a moment, just looked. There were Arithmancy books spread in front of her. So she was intelligent as well. “No study group today? Where are all the other little lions, don’t you people usually run in packs?”

That earned him a stern look. Not a glare, not exactly, but it was an emotion at least. “If you’re going to be rude, I’ll take back that seat.” When he raised his hands in mock surrender, she continued. “Not that I believe you’re actually interested, but you’re the first person to speak to me all week. No one in my House -- or most of the school, really -- is too pleased with me at the moment.”

“What, no appreciation for your cleverness amongst your own?”

“Cleverness?! I nearly got Ronald Weasley killed!” she all but yelled, causing Madam Pince to shush violently in their direction.

“That’s ridiculous, the poisoning wasn’t your fault. That was in whatever liquor Slughorn gave him. Surprised his lovely mother didn’t pitch a fit at her precious baby boy drinking at school, to be honest,” he whispered, once the librarian had gone back to whatever inane task she was involved with. The quip, which he’d thought weak at best, earned him a small chuckle, and he thirsted to hear her laugh outright.

“Well, that’s true enough. But him nearly dying is on top of trying to trick Harry into dating me, which also isn’t winning me any points. I’ll be surprised if anyone wants anything to do with me for the rest of the year.” Her voice held a forced nonchalance, but he could tell she was bothered. His heart burned to put happiness back into her.

“That’s the cleverness I mean. It was a good effort, really. And if Potter had half a brain, he wouldn’t need to be tricked in the first place. He must need his eyeglasses changed if he can’t see you right in front of him.” His voice was still soft, but for a different reason now. The whole thing was a mistake, he knew it was, but he couldn’t help himself -- he was drawn to her in a way he’d never been drawn to a girl in his life.

Her head raised sharply from her books to look him full in the face, a shy smile playing around her lips. “That’s. . . that’s very nice of you to say, Draco. I agree, obviously, but it’s always lovely to hear from someone else.” The shy smile had caught a devious edge, and his stomach dropped. Merlin, she was beautiful.

“People don’t call me Draco often. Particularly not Gryffindors.”

“It’s your name, isn’t it? I like it. I don’t believe I’ll ever call you anything else.”

“Good. It sounds good, coming from you.”

“Are you flirting with me?”

“Should I not?” he asked, suddenly, inexplicably nervous. A very new feeling for him, the constantly confident, self-important, pureblood god amongst men. He wondered briefly if he might be getting sick.

“No, you shouldn’t.” He definitely felt sick. “But do it anyway.” And he was soaring. He grinned at her, a full smile, his first in weeks, and could have fallen to his knees before the brilliance of the one she gave him in return.

~~~~~~~~

He was lucky, so incredibly lucky, that she understood his need to be discreet. It worked in her favor as well -- her Housemates were already upset with her for the potion incident, but if she’d been seen in Hogsmeade with Draco Malfoy she’d have been shunned entirely. It made it easy for him to claim that as his reasoning as well, instead of the truth.

They were so perfectly matched. If she’d been a Slytherin pureblood, and he wasn’t destined for death, he would’ve already been owling his mother to speak to her parents. Life was unfair that way. But he wasn’t willing to give up his time with her yet -- not yet, just a little while longer.

“What is this? I didn’t know there was a room up here at all, much less one like this.”

“It’s secret. You have to know how to get in. And it doesn’t always look like this -- it changes, gives you whatever you ask for.” It was a risk, revealing the secret of the Room of Requirement to her, but it was the perfect place to be with her, and he trusted her. As much as he shouldn’t, as terrible an idea as it was, he did.

“Anything you ask for?” she asked, tossing that mischievous smile at him that he loved so much.

“Cheeky witch. Yes, anything you ask for, but don’t go ruining all my hard work. I went to quite a lot of trouble setting this up for us, I’ll have you know,” he replied, pulling her into his arms with an adoring look on his face. Had anyone else seen the expression, he’d have lost every ounce of his bad boy reputation, every shred of respect his House gave him. Another reason they couldn’t be seen in public -- he couldn’t afford to lose his reputation, but when he was near her, he didn’t give one single fuck.

“Well, let’s get started then, shall we?” she suggested with a smile.

In the future, he would make this room their perfect getaway. It would be a romantic restaurant set for two, it would be a library full of her favorite books, it would be a shady hillside looking over a lake, it would be many, many things in the coming weeks. But now, it wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t beautiful. It was functional. He’d come to care for her, and he needed her to be safe.

“Right, so, first we’ll practice duelling, and then I’m going to teach you to throw knives. It’s important to have a backup in case you’re disarmed. Then, if it’s not too late, fistfighting and self defense.”

“But what if I hurt you?”

He couldn’t help it -- he laughed a little bit. She smiled, laughed a bit in return, then punched him straight in the face. Unprepared and shocked, it knocked him to the ground, bleeding from his nose. When he looked up to see her still smiling and holding her hand out to help him back up, he knew he was in love.

~~~~~~~~~~

Still, still, still the world revolved around Harry bloody Potter. Even after Draco nearly died, no one hated Precious Potter. They called it self-defense, they called it an accident, they called it whatever they liked so they wouldn’t have to hold the Chosen One accountable.

It would have been easier, if he’d died. His parents would’ve been punished, but likely not murdered, over his failure. After all, the Dark Lord himself had been killed by Potter once upon a time. If there were anything in the world that might wring a drop of sympathy from him, it would be a murder at the hands of his nemesis. The curse had hurt, Merlin, had it hurt -- but at least the people he cared about weren’t forced to watch him as he lay dying, like they would be if the Dark Lord had a hand in his demise. It would’ve been quicker than being eaten alive by a snake. It would’ve been better, easier, neater, it would’ve been the ideal way to die.

Except that Romilda wasn’t preparing herself for his death, like everyone else was. She had no idea. As smart as she was, he knew she likely had suspicions -- but suspicions are much different from fact. And so he couldn’t find it in himself to be unhappy that he’d lived. But he knew he had to tell her.

“I can’t believe he’d do that. He’s supposed to be good, that’s why everyone loves him so much, isn’t it? He’s supposed to make things right, not try to murder people. . .”

He smiled at her. “You know, I’ve been saying it for years. He’s not as good as everyone says he is.”

“Apparently not. I’m just so glad you’re okay, Draco, I was out of my mind.” Her arms wrapped around his middle, hugging him as tightly as she dared, even though he was fully healed, and rested her head on his chest. It warmed him from the inside out -- he was so cold, all the time. The only time he felt warm was with her.

“I’m fine, Romi.”

“Good. Never do that again. You are not allowed to leave me alone. I forbid it.”

He winced, and she immediately let him go, just for him to grab her close again and sit the both of them down on a couch in the center of the room. “Well, I. . . ah. You see -- Merlin, it’s even more difficult than I thought it would be. I, erm, I. . . I have to tell you something. You won’t like it.”

“Are you breaking up with me?”

“No! No, absolutely not, that’s the last thing I want. But. . . you might, after what I tell you. And I’ll understand, Romilda, really. I won’t ask you to stay with me once you know everything, not if you want to leave.”

“Okay. . . tell me, then.”

“Okay. Okay. I’ll tell you. I -- well, perhaps it’s best to start at the beginning, so you understand it all.”

He spoke for hours. He told her what his family was really like, the expectations his father had always had for him, the plans his mother wanted to make for him. How he’d never known any person who didn’t fall over themselves to be associated with him, and that Harry Potter had been the first, thus cementing their rivalry before they’d ever been Sorted. She’d scoffed at that, but it was the truth, so he told her. He described every significant event in his life, all his birthdays, every important conversation with his parents, and some not-so-important ones that truly exemplified their relationship, so she understood. He needed her to understand -- more than anything in the world, he needed her to understand.

Then he told her about the Quidditch World Cup, and his father’s involvement. He’d thought it a lark -- he was fourteen and didn’t understand. He idolized his father. He didn’t understand. Then he’d been turned into a ferret by a person everyone believed to be one of the good guys, bounced against the walls like it didn’t matter if he broke, because the man torturing him hated his father. It had been humiliating, painful, traumatizing, and worst of all, he hadn’t understood. The good guys weren’t supposed to act like that. His father and his father’s friends would never dream of doing anything like that to him, but his professor, the legendary Auror, was fine with it? For a petty argument, a mild hex between teenagers? It didn’t make sense.

Then the Dark Lord returned, and his father was a part of the inner circle, giving Draco himself yet another layer of superiority within the Slytherins. He was proud -- so, so proud, knowing that his family would be instrumental in changing their world. That made sense to him. That, he understood. The Dark Lord chose the Malfoy Estate as his permanent residence. More eminence. He was at the top of this new regime, with his family, and the oddity of their houseguest didn’t seem to matter much. He was still too young to be included in the meetings, so he still didn’t truly see what it was all about. That changed when his father failed to retrieve an object for his Master, and was imprisoned to boot.

So Draco filled his father’s shoes, as he was always meant to do. Sooner than had been intended, but it was his duty, and he was proud to fill it. Until he saw, really saw, what was happening -- what he was being asked to do. Once it settled in, that the expectations set for him were much higher than he’d ever anticipated, he was terrified. The threats -- the promises -- that were made, should he fail. . . some prices were too high to pay. It was a concept he’d been unfamiliar with up to this point in his life, but now he knew all too well, there were some consequences too damning to consider.

“So the Bell girl, and Weasley’s poisoning, those were my fault. I didn’t mean for them to happen, Romi, you have to believe me, I didn’t -- I just didn’t know what else to do. The other project I’m working on isn’t going well and -- “

“What other project?” she demanded. While she’d been quietly sympathetic during the majority of his tale, she’d become stony towards the end, and he feared the worst.

“I. . . you can’t tell anyone. Swear it, please, please swear it -- if I’m discovered, I’ll die, my mother will die, I can’t get this wrong. I trust you but no one else. Please tell me you’ll keep it secret.”

“I swear, I’ll never breathe a word to anyone. No matter what happens, I won’t tell anyone.”  
“Well. . . okay. I’m. . . I’m trying to repair a Vanishing Cabinet, so I have a quick way out. One of them is in a version of this room, the other in a shop in Knockturn Alley. So once I -- I -- if I’m able to. . . finish my task, I’ll be able to run. I won’t have a choice, I’ll have to run.”

She nodded, but remained silent for a moment. Then, “You know that if you succeed, that will destroy you all the same, right?”

“Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s true. You aren’t a killer, Draco, I know you. If you do this, it’ll eat you from the inside out, and you -- this person you are now, the person I love -- you won’t be this person anymore.”

Every word she spoke felt like a knife to the chest. They’d never said those three all-important words -- having it wrapped in everything else she said hurt more than anything he’d ever felt.

“I don’t have a choice.”

“Yes, you do. You always have a choice. You could talk to Dumbledore, explain what’s happening, get protection --”

“And leave my mother to be murdered? He’s in my home, do you understand that?! There’s no way to save myself without sacrificing her and I won’t do it. How could you even suggest that?”

“Because you can not do this! You can not kill Albus Dumbledore -- capability aside, you just can’t! I can’t watch you destroy yourself over this, I can’t just stand here and kiss you and pretend it’s not happening. I can’t do it.”

“So, what, we’re over? You hate me for becoming the person I have to become, for following the only path I have?” His heart was breaking -- he’d said he would respect her desire to leave, but now that it was happening, he couldn’t bear it.

“I don’t hate you,” she answered softly. “I’m just trying to save you while there’s still something left to save.”

He stood for a moment looking at her. Merlin, she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen in his life, and he was a selfish boy. It wasn’t until this moment, with those words, that he saw just how selfish he truly was. His love was a Gryffindor -- she may have had ambition, cunning, a devious streak a mile wide, but she was a Gryffindor. There was never a chance she was going to let go easily once he was hers. She’d ruin herself to save him, even if he was a lost cause, and he’d let her get attached to him anyway. He’d wanted her for himself, so he’d gotten her, and damn the consequences. But now -- now. . . now he loved her. And he couldn’t let her ruin her own life for his which was already forfeit.  
“You’re wrong. There’s nothing left of me to save. Don’t waste your energy on me.”

“That’s bullshit, Draco, of course there’s --”

“No, there isn’t. You’re asking me to cross that line from evil to good, but from this side, it isn’t a line -- it’s a wall we can’t break through. Even if I tried, I would be constantly failing you, until I disappeared. And even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t know how. This life is all I’ve ever known. I’m going to die, one way or the other. May as well be consistent.”

She was crying now -- the first time he’d seen his strong, brave witch cry. If he wasn’t in the middle of ending their relationship, he would’ve fallen to his knees and begged her forgiveness. Instead, he turned to leave, pausing only for a moment when she yelled at him.

“Don’t you walk away from me, Draco Malfoy! We are not done talking about this!”

“There’s nothing left to say.”

And he walked out of the room, closing the door on her sobs behind him.

~~~~~~~~

It wasn’t long after that when everything happened. It was quick -- he hadn’t realized how quickly everything would happen. Somehow, probably from Borgin, the Dark Lord found out about the passage Draco created, and sent the Death Eaters to take over the school. Really, it wasn’t a terrible plan. Without Dumbledore, there would be no one to calm the chaos that ensued, it would be terribly easy to take the castle. It wasn’t as if Draco could have told him no, even if he had known about it, but still -- he wished he’d had some warning.

In the moment, Romilda was right. He wasn’t a killer. He couldn’t do it. It would’ve been nice to be able to tell her that. But Dumbledore died all the same, and then it was all-out panic. The Death Eaters were fighting students and teachers -- he couldn’t defend his classmates against those who shared his Mark, but joining in the attack wasn’t an option. So he just ran. Down the stairs, around corners, never caring if he fell or was injured, he ran to the seventh floor corridor. He was nearly there when he saw her -- eyes blazing with fury, hair raging around her. If he’d had a moment -- just a moment, even a second -- he would’ve stopped to beg forgiveness, to tell her what he’d never said, to say. . . anything, anything to hear her voice one last time. But he couldn’t, so he didn’t, but he glanced at her several times even in his haste. She caught his eye once. There was so much anger burning there that he didn’t look again.

The next year, his seventh, she didn’t return to Hogwarts. He never asked anyone if they knew where she was. Her name was mentioned occasionally in Gryffindor conversations he overheard, so he knew she was alive, but that was all. As it should be. If she was somewhere else, she was safer than she’d ever be in the castle, and that was what mattered. He could learn to live with her hatred, he could bear never seeing her again, so long as she was safe.

She did return, though, one last time. For the last battle. The one that ended it all. He saw her again, fighting the same as last time. He just barely saw her as he ran past, just the same as before, but this time when she caught his eye, it wasn’t anger on her face. It was that blankness she’d worn the first time they spoke. Like she had no feelings for him whatsoever.

That was worse than hatred.

~~~~~~~~~

“It definitely sounds like you need closure, Mr. Malfoy.”

“What I need isn’t important. She deserves a life without me in it.”

“Shouldn’t that be her choice?”

“It is her choice. I’m not exactly an anonymous citizen, my movements were all over the papers for years after the war, and even since it’s died down, it’s not secret. If she wanted to get in touch with me, she would have by now.”

“Well, in fairness, it sounds to me like you were the one that ended things. Maybe she’s been waiting for you to reach out to correct the mistake that you made. She certainly sounds like a formidable girl, what if her wounded pride is what’s kept her silent?”

While the point was valid, it wasn’t one that Draco could consider. “It’s better this way. I’m sure she healed long ago, it would just make a mess of things for me to open old wounds again.”

“I disagree. At least think on it. Our time is up for now, so I’d like you to think about this until next week: you are a public figure, so if she’s still aware of the social and political happenings in Britain, she’ll know of all you’ve done to atone. If she’s as intelligent as you say, she likely understands now, on some level, that you were trying to protect her. And if she’s as strong and loyal as you’ve suggested, you may find her more receptive than you think. Talking to her might help you let go of some of this self-hatred you’re still carrying over everything that happened. Just think about it.”

~~~~~~~~

Therapists were awful, terrible, evil people, he’d decided. Before his mother’s death, she’d expressed on several occasions her desire for him to talk to a professional, to help him heal. She blamed his PTSD and depression for never marrying -- of course, she didn’t know about the torch he still carried, but his mental state certainly didn’t help. Still, he’d never wanted to go, until Narcissa did die, and he felt he owed it to her memory to do the one thing he’d always refused her.

But he’d never expected the woman to demand he actually talk to Romilda. Worse, he’d never expected that there might actually be valid reasons to do so.

He knew it was a bad idea, a terrible idea, he shouldn’t do it -- even as he wrote the letter. He told himself not to, his head screamed to tear up the parchment, to let it go, she wouldn’t want to hear from him, he was worthless and evil and shouldn’t inflict himself on others -- even as the owl flew into the distance.

~~~~~~~~~

It was the shock of the decade for him when he actually received a reply. Shock on top of shock when it wasn’t a Howler. It was actually. . . kind. Receptive. He’d proposed meeting in person, in public, so they could have a conversation but she wouldn’t be forced to be alone with him. Not only did she agree, she chose a place, a day, and a time as well. Immediately, he felt sick.

He continued to feel sick until the very moment she walked through the door of the restaurant. Twenty years from the last time he’d seen her, and she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. If only he hadn’t ruined everything -- if only he’d been on the right side -- if only.

They sat across from each other in silence, and he couldn’t help but think back to the first time they’d spoken.

“You wanted to talk?” she asked, blank face carefully constructed.

“Yes, I -- I’ve been. . . seeing a professional, to get help for the -- mental scars, I suppose you would say. I never really got over the war, and. . . my mother thought it would be good for me.”

“I heard about her passing. I’m sorry for your loss, I know how much you loved her.” He would’ve expected bitterness in her voice, or an edge of anger, but there was none -- just genuine sympathy.

“Thank you. I did -- I do. But -- well, the therapist recommended I reach out to you, to talk about the relationship that we had in school and get some closure, since it didn’t exactly end on the best of terms. . . “

“Yes, you mentioned that in your letter. What, exactly, do you need to talk about?”

Nothing in his life had ever been so difficult as this. “I. . . I guess I feel the need to apologize to you, Romilda. No, I definitely need to apologize, but I suppose that’s where I should start -- it’s as good a place as any, right? I was. . . selfish. I should never have pulled you into my mess to begin with, I had no right to do that to you. I just. . . I don’t know why I did it, to be honest with you. I just saw you and you were so beautiful, so strong, fearless, devious, perfect. I wanted you and I didn’t think about what that would do to you. And I’m sorry.”

“I appreciate the apology. Why do you think you need to apologize?”

“For putting you into that situation. For loving you when I had no right to. For not picking the right side. For. . . everything.”

“I never hated you for any of that. I was angry that you left me, and I didn’t understand then, but I do now. More than anything, it was that you left, you stopped talking to me, you wouldn’t meet me. I would’ve worked everything else out with you but I couldn’t bridge that gap you put between us.”

He dropped his head, staring at the empty plate in front of him. “I know. I’m sorry for that, too. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done in my life, believe me, but I needed you to be safe and I didn’t feel like you’d be safe if we were together.”

“Did you know the Death Eaters would attack Hogwarts that night? Is that the real reason you were fixing that cabinet?”

“No!” he insisted immediately. “No, I had no idea, the Dark Lord didn’t tell me. He didn’t like to share his plans unless necessary, and I was sixteen -- I wasn’t necessary. If I’d known, I would have warned you at the very least.”

“But no one else?” she asked sharply. He looked back up at her, desperate for her to understand.

“Honestly. . . no. I know that makes me an awful person, but if I’d known and warned the whole school, it would’ve gotten back to him and he would’ve killed my mother. I was prepared to die but I couldn’t do anything that would risk her.”

She was silent for a moment, which wasn’t doing any favors for his blood pressure. “I understand. I always knew she was the most important person in your life --”

“You were the most important person in my life. But she was still my mother. I didn’t care about many people, but you and Mother. . . I would’ve done anything in the world to keep the two of you safe. Anything. I would’ve died for you.”

“I would never have asked you to die for me, Draco. Can’t I want you safe, too?”

“There wasn’t a way for me to be safe, except to follow orders.”

“I know that now. Back then, when I was sixteen and stupid, I didn’t, but I do now. I was just so angry that you wouldn’t consider asking for help, or running away, but as I’ve gotten older and looked back at it all, I know you couldn’t. I forgave you a long time ago.”

His heart immediately burst into flutters. “Y-you. . . you forgave me. I can’t. . . you have no idea how much it relieves me to hear that. I don’t deserve it, but as I said, I’m a selfish man. Thank you.”

“I was always going to. I loved you, I didn’t stand a chance.”

He kept silent at those words, unable to speak, so moved he was by the depth of her devotion. Even if it was in the past, even if he’d blown any chance he may have had, her capacity for love overwhelmed him.

“Was there. . . anything else you wanted to talk about?” she asked, with a strange tone to her voice.

“Well. . . honestly, I was expecting that to be a much longer conversation. I’m sure I have more things to apologize for, but I’d only prepared that one, with the hope of possibly getting to the rest in future conversations.”

“I suppose we should have dinner next week then.”

He was once again struck silent. Was -- she wasn’t asking him out. Was she?

“Dinner?” he repeated, still half-idiotic.

“Sure. Dinner, drinks, whatever you’d like.”

“You -- you actually want to see me again?”

“Why not? You’ve kept fit all this time, Draco. How can a woman say no to more time with you?” she answered, winking at him, that devious smile playing around her lips. Twenty years -- twenty years and that smile could still bring him to his knees.

“Romilda. . . are you flirting with me?”

“Should I not?” Even in the face of her carefully-masked nerves at his question, he was forcibly reminded of their first conversation. There was only one way he could possibly answer.

“No, you shouldn’t. But. . . do it anyway.”

The smile she gave him was blinding. He would never understand how or why he’d earned another chance with this goddess of a woman, but he decided right then and there -- he would never walk away from her again. If she would have him, he would spend the rest of his life on his knees, worshiping at the altar of that smile.

“Dinner then?”


End file.
